


that ugly ass yellow shirt

by missandrogyny



Series: the ugly ass shirts [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Riding, Rimming, Sexual Content, that yellow shirt Harry wore yes you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missandrogyny/pseuds/missandrogyny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This," says Louis, holding up a shirt from the box, "is the ugliest fucking shirt I've ever seen."</p>
            </blockquote>





	that ugly ass yellow shirt

**Author's Note:**

> note: i am not at all calling harry's fashion sense ugly. nor is this fic a complaint about his wild shirts. i love his wild shirts. he should honestly keep wearing them. i just thought this'd be fun.
> 
> this is one is for royalty. [princess](http://britishhusbands.tumblr.com) this is for you. if louis' a king, you are a princess.
> 
> this is because 6 months to this day, harry wore that yellow shirt. i hope you know the one.

It starts with a box of free stuff given to them by their concert organizers in Manila.

"This," says Louis, holding up a shirt from the box, "is the ugliest fucking shirt I've ever seen."

He says it so flatly, that Harry looks up from the black snapback he's examining, only to be faced by a yellow...something. A yellow button down, apparently, with a pattern of blue and red lilies. Or, at least they look like lilies. Harry's not very knowledgeable about his flowers.

Nevertheless, it's a bright yellow button down with blue and red flowers, and Harry isn't ashamed to say that he falls in love with it almost immediately.

What can he say. He's passionate about shirts with character. And that shirt dishes out character in spades.

"It's not that bad," Harry says diplomatically, scooting closer to Louis to study the shirt closer. The material looks soft from where he's seated, and the flowers are pretty cute the closer he gets to them. "I'm sure there are worse shirts out there."

Louis levels him with a look. "Haz," he says, unimpressed. "It's yellow. Like piss. It's literally piss yellow."

Harry doesn't think it's piss yellow. "It's not piss yellow," Harry replies, his eyes still critically studying the shirt, like a proper fashion veteran. Which, he is. He didn't win that British Style Award in 2013 just because his last name is Styles. "I don't know, I think it's more of a warm, bright.....chartreuse colour."

Louis' look turns even more incredulous. "What the fuck is a chartreuse? Were you on the Crayola website again?"

Maybe. "No," Harry answers. "It's just...it's like a lighter shade of yellow."

"So it's still yellow."

"Not like a yellow-yellow, just like a less yellow, yellow, you know what I mean?"

He's very eloquent.

Louis stays silent for a moment, probably digesting Harry's eloquence. And then: "What _are_ you talking about?"

"Never mind," Harry responds. "The shirt. It's not that bad." It's actually quite lovely. He quite likes the contrast between the light coloured shirt and the dark, richer red and blue of the lilies. He reaches out a finger and touches the material. It's just as soft as it looks. "I mean, I'd wear it."

"You'd wear practically anything bright and with patterns," Louis dismisses. "No matter how strange they are. You'll just throw it on, unbutton it until your tits are out, and go."

"Picking and styling shirts is an art," Harry argues. "You have to wear the shirts with _character_."

See, Louis wouldn't understand the art even if it went and bit him on his (admittedly lovely) arse. All he ever wears are those black t-shirts and bro-tanks that, although make him look hot, are ridiculously boring. Fashion is supposed to be _interesting and fun_. Like sex.

Louis understand sex, though. Louis understands sex really well. Harry has no doubt that one day he'll understand fashion in the same way.

"What character does this one have, then?" Louis asks, squinting at the shirt again. "All it makes me think of is piss."

"Spongebob!" Niall interrupts from his own bundle of free stuff by the couch. "It reminds me of Spongebob!"

"It actually reminds me a bit of Niall," Liam volunteers, from the other side of the room, "all bright and loud and....generally just very out there."

Harry watches as Niall laughs loudly, before picking up a random jersey and lobbing it at Liam's head. "If anyone's the colour of piss, it's you!"

"It's not piss colour," Liam says, shielding his head with his arms. "You heard Harry, it's char....whatever!"

"Chartreuse," Harry corrects, but nobody really hears him because Louis has started digging up stuff from the box and lobbing it at Liam as well.

"It's a banana-colour!" Liam shouts, as he starts throwing his own stuff blindly. One of his shirts hit Harry's lap. Harry shrugs and throws back at him. It hits Liam straight in the face.

"I'll get you for that, Styles!" Liam cries, and proceeds to make a mess out of the room.

They spend about an hour running around the room, tossing stuff at each other. It's actually a lot more fun than it sounds, and it reminds Harry of what it was like when they were just starting to go on tour, when there were five of them and they could go and steal golf cars and generally make a mess backstage.

They're four now, short one member, and Zayn's departure is still a bit strange. There are still moments where it feels like something is missing, but, alas. They're not talking about that.

Later, when they're tired, lying on the carpeted floor of the dressing room, Louis picks up the yellow shirt and tosses it onto Harry's lap. "Here," he says, panting a bit. "I can tell you're pretty much in love with it. Maybe you could wear it tonight and make it look good."

Harry smoothens out the shirt on his lap, enjoying the feel of the material beneath his palms. It's ridiculously soft. It won't chafe his nipples either, which is good. His nipples are really sensitive. Especially because Louis likes to bite at them a lot nowadays.

"Maybe," he says, before returning to examining the rest of the free stuff they were given.

. . .

He does actually decide to wear the shirt. It's just as soft on his torso as it was beneath his fingers, and it makes Harry happy.

(But then again, it's actually not that hard to make Harry happy. He's not a diva, no matter how many times Louis calls him one. His happy list is this: some fro-yo,  some tea, a guitar, some pretty, patterned shirts, a huge, fluffy white bed, a naked Louis in said bed with a ring Harry gave him on his finger. With all those, Harry will be able to survive in bliss until the end of his days.)

He makes his way through the backstage of the venue, introducing himself to the staff (because he's polite), playing with Lux for a bit, before making his way to the game room, and finding Louis, dressed in a white tank top, watching an intense table tennis match between Liam and Niall.

Harry wraps his arms around Louis' waist. "Hiiiii."

He noses into Louis' hair. Louis smells a bit like cigarette smoke and hairspray, but he also smells like something Harry can't put into words; he smells like those lazy days they spend in bed, wrapped around each other, in silence but enjoying the feeling of each other. He smells like home, and Harry can't get enough.

"You're ruining my hair," Louis complains, because he's the _real_ diva, but he still leans back into Harry and let's Harry squeeze him as he pleases. He's so tiny, is the thing. He fits perfectly in the circle of Harry's arms, like a missing puzzle piece. "Hey, you make the shirt look good."

"I make everything look good," Harry says smugly, and he has to admit he deserves it when Louis pinches his arm.

"Stop," Louis says, and then, "Liam, you fucking suck at table tennis!"

"Excuse me," says Liam, sounding affronted. He still manages to hit the ball that Niall sends his way, though. Harry's in awe of his control on his limbs. If that were Harry, Niall'd probably already hit him in the face.

Although it's not really a fair comparison. Liam's very in control of his limbs and has mastered the art of not getting distracted by Louis whereas Harry's still learning to control his limbs and can't help but get distracted by Louis.

"Yeah, you suck," echoes Niall, as the ball Liam sends his way goes flying off the ping pong table. He jogs to the direction of the ball.

"I'm ace at table tennis," Liam says. "I just won."

"No, you're not," Louis says. Harry can already picture him rolling his eyes. "That was just luck. Niall's probably a better player than you."

"Yeah," Niall says again, on his hands and knees on the floor, trying to pick up the ball from where it bounced in the corner.

Niall really isn't a better table tennis player. Everybody knows this. Before, literally the only way Niall would ever win in table tennis was if he played against Zayn, because Zayn was the only one who let him win.

They're still not talking about that, though.

"Put your money where your mouth is, Tommo," Liam challenges. "Bet on Niall. If I win, you have to do my  laundry for a month during the American leg of the tour. If you win, I do yours."

 Harry makes a noise behind him. Louis can't agree to that bet, he doesn't even do his own laundry. In fact, Louis doesn't even know how to do laundry properly. Harry does both their laundry for them, while Louis sits on the washing machine like a child and tries to distract Harry with kisses and hand jobs. It doesn't really work.

(Okay, it works sometimes. Most of the time. Ninety-nine percent of the time. Let's just say the laundry room in their London house has seen enough to rival their bedroom.)

Needless to say, Louis can't bet something he doesn't even do.

But then again, he's Louis Tomlinson.

 "Deal," Louis says, and Harry uses the arm wrapped around his waist to pinch him on the side. Louis slaps his hand away.

"Louis," Harry hisses into his hair. "I don't want to touch Liam's underwear."

"You won't," Louis hisses back. "Niall's going to win."

Harry doubts that. Harry seriously doubts that.

Niall comes back, ball in hand and Liam challenges him to another game, explaining to him the stakes, which Niall happily accepts. They shake hands a bit (because Liam is a stickler like that), before Liam takes the first serve, almost immediately gaining a point while Niall flails around, like.....something. A chicken, maybe.

By the fifth time Niall misses the ball, Harry is wincing and already resigning himself to having to touch Liam's underwear.

"You should not have taken this bet," he whispers into Louis' hair, so that Niall and Liam won't hear him. "You don't even do your own laundry. I have to touch Liam's dirty underwear now."

"Shh," Louis says, not even turning to look at him. "Shut up."

Harry pouts. Because, well, that's all he can do.

It's a few minutes of tersely watching the game when Louis sighs. "Stop pouting. Look, how about we make a wager of our own, eh?"

He perks up at that. "A wager?"

"Yeah, like, if Liam wins, you, uh," Louis turns around in Harry's arms, his eyes meeting Harry's own. Harry watches the way his hair falls across his forehead, looks at the mischievous glint in his blue eyes. "You can make me do anything."

Harry gasps happily. "I can make you do Liam's laundry?"

Louis raises an eyebrow. He looks a bit thrown off by Harry's suggestion, but Harry doesn't really notice it. He's too busy basking at the fact that maybe, just maybe he doesn't have to touch Liam's underwear. He really, really doesn't want to. "Honestly, Styles, you can make me do whatever you want and you choose _laundry_ , of all things."

"It's actually very erotic," Harry argues. "Domesticating you makes me so hard." He raises his voice an octave and moans quietly. 'Ooh, Lou, baby, load that wash'. See, I don't understand why the porn companies don't capitalize on this more."

Louis just shakes his head. "You are so fucking weird."

"You've been fucking my weird since two thousand ten." Harry shoots back cheerily, and then pauses. He tilts his head. "And if Niall wins?"

"Same stakes," Louis says, smugly. "I can make you do anything. And just a head's up, mine won't be laundry."

Harry thinks about it. On one hand, if he wins, he doesn't have to touch Liam's dirty underwear at all. On the other hand, if he loses, he's most likely just going to have lots of sex with Louis, which he is not at all opposed to. Sex with Louis is always hot, and is always a lot of fun, and he always lets Harry put his mouth on his gorgeous bum. So like, it's a win-win situation for him, basically.

"Deal," Harry says, and then he and Louis lock pinkies.

. . .

Of course, as Harry predicted, Liam wins.

To be fair, Niall put up a surprisingly good fight, having immensely improved his table tennis incredibly after Louis pulled him aside and gave him a pep talk. But it was still Liam who scored the last point, which means that Louis lost, and now has to do Liam's laundry.

"I'm going to teach you to do laundry so well, Lou," Harry promises, as they walk backstage, being ushered into their positions before the show starts. "So, so well."

Louis looks at him, unimpressed. "I'm breaking up with you."

"No, you're not," Harry says confidently. He reaches out to link his and Louis' hands. "I'm going to teach you how to do laundry, and then you'll be proper domesticated, then I'm going to marry you."

"Excuse me," Louis interrupts, trying to wrench his hand away from Harry's grip. It's a bit harsh, but it's just because Louis' still bitter about losing to Liam. "Are you implying that you won't marry me unless I can do laundry? Because if that's the case, I'm going to look for someone who'll love me despite my lack of laundry skills." He pauses. "Maybe Liam and Sophia will agree to a polyamorous relationship. Or maybe Luke will want to have his way with me."

Harry doesn't mean to growl at the mention of Luke's name. It's not as if Luke even did anything; in fact, Harry knows that Luke is straight, and therefore will probably not steal Louis from him. But Luke is extremely hot, and Harry's sure that he's at least a little bit in love with Louis. Everyone is, `cause Louis', like, the exception. So he's also sure that if Louis runs to Luke, there is a one percent chance that Luke will welcome him with open arms and an open bed. A tiny chance, but it's still there.

"No, baby," Harry says angrily, thinking of Louis in Luke's bed. Luke must be stopped. "You're mine. I'll marry you even if you don't know how to do laundry. Fuck, I'll marry you even if all you do is sit on the couch and eat crisps."

"So," says Louis innocently, "does that mean I don't have to do Liam's laundry anymore?"

Harry opens his mouth to respond, but catches himself. He narrows his eyes at Louis, who's now looking at him from beneath his eyelashes. He looks exactly the way Harry likes, all seductive and pretty, with his long eyelashes framing his blue eyes, and _fuck_ , he's good.

"Nice try, Lou," Harry says and Louis rolls his eyes.

"You have to admit I almost got you there," Louis huffs. "God, you are the worst boyfriend ever. Luke wouldn't do me like this."

"It's your fault for even agreeing to Liam's laundry bet," Harry tells him, pulling him along backstage. He tries not to think of hot Luke. "It's your fault for even starting wagers in the first place!"

"Yeah, but you should know by now not to enable me!" Louis shoots back. "You have to stop me when I make ideas like this! That's your fucking job!"

"Literally nobody can stop you when you make ideas like this," Harry argues. "Remember that time you wanted a puppy and Paul tried to stop you and you hatched this elaborate plan that ended with us getting a puppy, a sheep and a really bloody expensive lizard on tour?"

"It wasn't that bad," Louis scoffs.

It was. They were incredibly lucky that Paul knew of a place they could hold and sponsor the sheep, and that one of Harry's friends was willing to take the puppy off their hands. And that Zayn was willing to take the bloody expensive lizard home.

They were also incredibly lucky that the media hadn't caught wind of that. And they still are incredibly lucky, to this day, that nobody has found the bloody sheep sponsored under the name Tomlinson-Styles. Yet.

Harry just sighs and pulls on Louis' hand. They turn the corner, running into Liam and Niall, who are waiting in their small room in the wings of the stage, already outfitted with their mic packs.

"There's Harry and Louis," Niall cries out, and the stagehand, who had already frantically begun speaking into her walkie-talkie, sighs in relief.

"Sorry we're late," Harry say happily, extending the hand that's not grabbed onto Louis. "We got distracted. I'm Harry."

The stagehand shakes his hand but doesn't say a word, instead, immediately moving to fit Harry's mic pack and in-ear on him. She says something in a foreign language to one of the other stagehands, who immediately goes to Louis to fit his mic pack and in-ear.

Once they're all set and they're all handed their individual microphones, all four of them gather in a circle.

"First show without Zayn, lads," Liam says, because _of course_ he has to remind them. "Let's make it good."

"Can't believe we're only four now," Niall says. "I miss Zayn."

"Yeah," Harry replies, because that's all he can say.

Louis doesn't say anything, but Harry carefully watches him from across the circle. Harry knows that Louis was really hurt by Zayn leaving, that it had affected him more than he had let on. Zayn, after all was his best friend, his partner-in-crime; they're the ones who banded together to prank not only the rest of them but their staff as well.

"Think of it this way," Louis finally speaks, and Harry can tell that his voice has a forced lightness to it. "At least we'll be able to tell if Harold here goes missing and leaves us to be a solo star, eh? I mean, everyone would notice the absence of that shirt."

It's not particularly funny, but it gets the job done, and all four of them laugh.

"Let's do it?" Liam asks, into their circle. "For the fans?"

"For the fans," they all echo, and they do their special handshake before they're thrust out  into the night, into the bright lights and loud chords and the screams of their fans piercing even through their in-ears.

. . .

The show goes well, all things considered. The fans are loud and energetic and they scream happily for them despite, their missing member. They're able to cover Zayn's parts well, but Harry still feels sort of guilty when he looks out the crowd and sees an abundance of Zayn signs. It's going to be so hard to break the news to them.

His shirt, under the stage lights, is actually a lot brighter than he thought. The material sort of shimmers a bit, and he's relatively sure that even the people all the way in the back can see him from their position. It's still ridiculously comfortable though, and soft, and he's going to keep this shirt.

But despite the slight ocean breeze and the night air, Manila is hot, and he finds himself getting sweaty almost immediately. It probably wasn't a good idea to wear a long-sleeved shirt. He makes a mental note to change his shirt during the intermission. Also to wear a shorter-sleeved shirt for the show tomorrow.

Louis, as he always does, messes about during the concert; he starts a water fight with Liam during their last song, and that, coupled with the rain now pouring down from the sky, ends with all of them wet and shivering. The moment they finish their bows, they run off-stage and into some really fluffy towels.

Louis looks down at himself. "I'm soaked," he complains to no one in particular. He pulls the wet shirt from off his stomach and makes a face. "I'm the most soaked out of all you lot."

"That's what you get for attacking me, Tommo," Liam says, towelling himself off. He takes off his shirt and wipes at his chest with the towel.

"That's what you get for being a loser, Liam," Louis snipes back, ignoring the stagehand who's frantically motioning to him to go backstage to change.

"You're still doing my laundry though," Liam taunts, and Louis playfully snarls at him. The stagehand looks like she's about to cry.

It takes a few moments before Louis finally notices her and goes off to change, and the rest of them finish drying off before running backstage and piling into their awaiting van.

"Are we all here?" The driver asks in heavily-accented English, and Harry's about to open his mouth when the door opens and Louis slides in beside him, skin cold and hair wet.

And apparently, wearing Harry's yellow shirt.

Harry just gapes at him.

"Sorry, yeah, I'm here," Louis says, running a hand through his wet hair, apparently oblivious to Harry's inner turmoil. He leans forward, enough so that Harry can see the jut of his collarbone and a peek of his tattoo through the neckline of the shirt. Harry's mouth dries up.

He looks delectable. Harry wants to eat him.

The car starts moving, but Harry doesn't notice, too busy taking in the way the shirt seems to swallow him up, making him look even tinier and more delicate than he normally does. He traces the smooth curve of Louis' neck, to his shoulder, to where his skin disappears into the large, hastily buttoned shirt. He marvels at how the colour complements Louis' skin perfectly, making him look more like caramel. He doesn't stop staring at the way the sleeves, despite already being folded, go all the way down to Louis' dainty palms, his fingers peeking out from the top.

Louis leans back into him. "Hi babe," he murmurs quietly. "I'm cold."

On instinct, Harry wraps an arm around him, and Louis snuggles deeper into his shoulder. "Your fault," Harry murmurs back at him, before nosing his way into Louis' wet hair. "You make the shirt look good."

Louis snorts. "I make everything look good."

He tries to refrain from rolling his eyes, and instead nudges Louis with his shoulder, though. "Hey. That's my line."

Louis shrugs. "You stole my line first."

And well , he's got him there.

Harry ducks down, presses a few kisses to the skin behind Louis' ear, and he feels the way Louis shivers against him. Louis turns his head towards Harry, and Harry presses a long, chaste kiss against his lips.

"Not here," Liam complains, from beside Harry. "Please don't snog here."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Stop being a wuss, you've already seen us naked."

Harry waggles his eyebrows when Liam looks at him. Liam shudders.

"That's not an experience I'm keen on revisiting," Liam says, shooting Louis a dark look. "I don't actually enjoying being mentally scarred for life, you know."

"Whatever," Louis huffs. "You're just jealous."

"Jealous that Lou and I are pretty cute," Harry confirms.

"The cutest," Louis agrees, and Harry has to kiss him again.

They sit in silence after that, Harry continuing to press kisses on every part of Louis he can, up until they reach the hotel. They bid the other boys goodnight, before Harry pulls a pliant Louis into their shared suite. They make their way to the bedroom, Harry dropping down by his suitcase to pull out his clothes for the evening. Hopefully there'll be a good movie.

He turns around to ask Louis to switch on the telly, but immediately freezes.

Louis is in front of him, still wearing the yellow shirt, peeling himself out of his jeans. Harry notes the way the bottom of the shirt touches the middle of his thigh, the way his arse curves under the material, the way the neckline is slipping, exposing a gorgeous, caramel shoulder.

It's not supposed to be an erotic striptease at all, but fuck if he's not the most erotic thing Harry's ever laid his eyes on. He can already feel his cock stirring in his jeans.

Louis frees himself from his jeans and turns to face Harry, shooting him a smile. His hair is still slightly damp but soft, his fringe lying across his forehead, and he looks so cute, all pliant and happy and engulfed in Harry's shirt, with only his pants on.

The only way he'd look any better was if he were stretched full of Harry's cock.

"You alright?" Louis asks him in that soft, happy tone of his. He's still smiling at Harry fondly, and Harry wonders briefly if he'd smile like that when he's finally wearing Harry's ring on his finger.

Harry means to answer the question, he does. But what comes out of his mouth is, "I changed my mind."

Louis furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head in question. "What are you talking about?"

"The wager." Harry finds himself licking his lips, his eyes darting from Louis' face all the way down to his feet. Oh, he's wearing socks. He must've seen the pair Harry set out for him.

"Oh," Louis blinks a bit, his long eyelashes fluttering. "The wager."

"Yeah," Harry bites his lip. "You don't have to do Liam's laundry anymore."

"But Harold," Louis whines softly, teasingly, and Harry can swear up and down that his cock jerked at the sound, "I thought the laundry was erotic."

"I changed my mind," Harry repeats, and he watches as Louis takes a step closer to him.

Louis sighs dramatically and takes another step forward. "Well, if you must. What am I gonna do then?"

Harry can't speak. Instead, he traces Louis' face slowly, studying his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, the colour of his lips; he lets his eyes roam all the way down the pale column of Louis' neck, to his collarbones, to where his chest tattoo disappears into the shirt. He looks at Louis' strong, thick thighs, down to his delicate ankles, before looking up to meet his eye again.

He's sure Louis understands, judging by the way Louis is smirking at him. But then again, Louis does enjoy being a little shit.

Louis takes another step forward, close enough that if Harry ducks down, they could be sharing air. "Harry," he says softly, his voice raspy. He licks his lips. Harry swallows audibly. "What would you have me do?"

He looks up at Harry from beneath his eyelashes again and Harry. Can't take it anymore.

"The bed," Harry murmurs to the space between them. "On the bed. Now."

Louis clucks his tongue. "Bossy aren't you?"

"The bed," Harry insists, his voice now an octave lower. Louis rolls his eyes but does what Harry says, walking toward the bed and flopping down on it like a petulant child.

"I'm on the bed now," he says, like that's not obvious to Harry. "Is this your wish? Are we done?"

God, he drives Harry _insane_.

"Do you think we're done?" Harry asks. "Scoot up the bed."

Louis sighs irritably. "I do have better things to do, Harold," he says haughtily, but he does what Harry says. He turns and lies on his back. "Are you going to fuck me hard like a mindless animal again?"

Harry doesn't do that. "I don't do that."

Louis snorts. "Keep telling yourself that."

"You like it either way," Harry shoots back, and then moves to climb over Louis on the bed.

"Three things," he says. Louis opens his mouth, presumably to protest, but Harry leans forward and covers his mouth with his own. He licks into Louis' relishing in the way he tastes, before he bites his lower lip and pulls away, sticking two fingers in his mouth to stop him from protesting.

Louis starts sucking at them. Harry feels more blood rush to his cock. He didn't really think this through, but whatever.

 "One," he continues, as Louis licks at his fingers and gives him bedroom eyes. "You are going to let me put my mouth on your arse. Two, I am going to lie down, and watch you fuck yourself on my cock."

He pulls his fingers out of Louis' mouth. "Three," he says, trailing his spit-slicked fingers down Louis' jaw. "You are _not_ going to take the shirt off."

Louis shivers. "Like me in the shirt, do you?"

"Like you in all my clothes," Harry answers solemnly. "Yellow's a good shade on you."

"Some posh lad told me it was chartreuse," Louis replies. "Probably just an idiot trying to get in my pants with his knowledge of colours. Which he got from the Crayola website."

"I was _not_ on the Crayola website--"

Louis raises an eyebrow. Harry just sighs and rolls off Louis. "Hands and knees, Lou."

Louis actually does as he's told. Which is. Interesting.

Harry positions himself behind Louis, pushing up the hem of his shirt and fitting his hands on Louis' hips. He presses a kiss on the base of Louis' spine, hooks his fingers into the waistband of Louis' pants and pulls them down, until Louis' bare, naked arse is right in his face, looking so fucking inviting.

"I love your bum," he murmurs, leaning in to bite at Louis' left arse cheek and relishing in the squeal Louis releases. He does the same to the right one. "Always fucking love your bum. Best bum in the world."

He sinks his teeth into Louis' arse, sucking slightly, before laving over it with his tongue. He does it again and again.

"Harry," Louis says breathlessly. Harry tries to imagine how he looks, with sweat matting down his fringe to his forehead and a flush rising from his chest. "Are you going to eat me anytime this century, or...?"

"Or," Harry answers happily, before spreading Louis with his fingertips and licking at his pretty, pink hole, getting him wet with spit.

The first lick has Louis melting, his arms folding beneath him and his hands clenching on the duvet. Harry licks him, nice and slow, his tongue swirling around his rim, and Louis moans, the sound going straight to Harry's cock. God, Louis makes the prettiest sounds that Harry wants to listen to until forever. And he's got the prettiest arse. That Harry gets to eat on a regular basis.

Honestly, how did he end up so lucky?

"Yellow looks so good on you, baby," He mumbles into Louis' arse, and he feels Louis shake from the vibrations of it. "Fuck, all the colours of the rainbow look so good on you."

"It's a natural talent," Louis gasps, as Harry gives him little, kitten licks. "Oh--Harry, _ungh_ , I--"

"Shh," Harry says into his arse, and then gives him a broad sweep of his tongue. He hears Louis' gasp, feels the way he quivers under his fingertips. "Like that?"

"Yeah, I--"

Harry does it again, and this time Louis makes a choked off noise that has Harry scrambling to squeeze his cock through his jeans. Louis' so fucking loud, and Harry loves it so, so much.

Harry starts alternating his licks, if only for the way Louis arches his back and thrusts his arse into Harry's face. He's making little whimpers, high in his throat, and Harry doesn't know if he's even aware that he's making them.  He pulls back.

Immediately, Louis whines. "Harry."

"Baby," Harry says, and blows on Louis' hole, watching the way Louis throws his head back and shivers. God, Louis is gorgeous.

"You're gorgeous," Harry says, before burying his face into Louis' arse once more. He uses his teeth to scrape the edge of Louis' rim, and is rewarded by a long, drawn-out whimper.

Harry coaxes Louis' hole open with his tongue, before flattening it and fucking him with it, in and out. Louis almost screams and clenches down on Harry's tongue, his muscles quivering.

"Harry," Louis cries, and Harry pulls his mouth away, pushing a finger into him. Louis gasps.

"You alright?" He asks, keeping the finger still.

Louis shifts on his forearms. "Fine," he says, his voice broken. "Fucking-- _move_ , Harry."

Harry doesn't need to be told twice. He pushes his finger all the way down to the second knuckle, wiggling it around inside Louis. He ducks down and licks around where Louis is stretched open around his finger.

He pulls away and presses a kiss on Louis' arse cheek. "Still good?"

"Yeah," Louis answers breathlessly.

Harry starts fucking Louis with his finger, in and out, in and out, and he watches as Louis arches his back as he tries to ride the finger, the yellow shirt bunching up with his effort. It's the hottest thing Harry's ever had the pleasure to watch.

"I'm gonna give you another finger now, okay baby?" Harry doesn't wait for a reply, simply pushes another finger into Louis, scissoring them to stretch him out. He pushes his second finger deeper inside, angling it to where he knows Louis' prostate is.

He knows he's found it when Louis actually screams.

"There," Louis sobs brokenly, and Harry has to actually stick his own hands in his pants and squeeze his cock. _Fuck_ , Louis is so hot, and Harry's so hard, it's bordering on painful.

 Harry starts fucking his fingers on Louis' prostate almost immediately. Louis keeps moaning as Harry starts pressing on it alternately with his two fingers, the sounds getting louder and louder.

"Still alright?" Harry asks, as Louis starts sobbing.

"I'm fine," Louis breathes out, and Harry pushes a third finger into Louis, stretching him out even more, and moving it deep into Louis so that he can graze his prostate with his finger.

It takes only a few moments until Louis comes with a scream, clenching around Harry's fingers. Harry fucks him through it, pushing his fingers in and out, watching the way Louis shakes apart, in front of him.

Louis collapses on the bed when he's done, and Harry wastes no time crawling up over him.

"Fuck," he says breathlessly, pressing a kiss into Louis' hair. Louis wrinkles his nose, but make no other movement. "Fuck, baby, you were amazing."

He presses kisses on every part of Louis' face he can, trying to ignore the way his cock is still throbbing in his jeans. He can deal with that later. Right now, he needs to see if Louis' still alive.

Louis finally stirs, which makes Harry breathe a sigh of relief. (It's not like he was worried that Louis died of sex, but, you know, it's a possibility.) He turns over so that he's on his back, facing Harry, and he squints his pretty blue eyes at Harry.

"Did you come?" He slurs, and before Harry can react, one of his hands is moving lightning quick, squeezing the front of Harry's jeans.

"Harry," he admonishes (well, as much as he can admonish while in a sex haze), "was it not good?"

It was good. It was, so, so good. It's just that, well.

"It was," Harry promises, leaning over to press a kiss on Louis' nose. "It was amazing, baby. It's just..."

It's just that he stopped himself from shooting off, because he was so, so looking forward to watching Louis fuck himself on his cock while wearing his yellow shirt.

Louis simply studies him for a moment, his eyes darting across Harry's face, before he says, "Get off me."

Harry rolls off him and onto his back, and Louis pushes himself into a sitting position, reaching for something on the night table beside him.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks, craning his neck to see.

"Paying my debt," Louis manages to snag whatever it was he was trying to grab, and he turns back to Harry. "And making you come. Take off your clothes now, please."

"Who's bossy now?" Harry asks, but quickly divests himself of his clothes. His cock springs free and stands at attention, so hard that it's curving slightly into his stomach. He wraps a hand around the base of it and squeezes.

Louis turns his attention to what's in his hand, and Harry realizes that it's a bottle of lube. He watches as Louis grabs a handful, before leaning over and slicking up Harry's cock.

Harry hisses. "Lou, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to ride you," Louis answers simply, "so that you can't call me a cheater and tell me I don't follow through."

"But you are a cheater," Harry says confusedly. Louis' hand on his dick is making his brain all fuzzy. "Last time we played Scrabble, you said that 'za' was a word."

"It is a word," Louis tells him, focused on slicking up Harry's cock. "Besides, Scrabble is fucking boring anyway. It doesn't count."

Scrabble's not boring. And it fucking counts, okay?

"We played monopoly and you were losing so you decided to tip over the entire board."

Louis' face darkens. "Monopoly is the fucking worst." He throws a leg over Harry's hips and straddles him, his arse hovering over Harry's hard cock. "Doesn't count."

"But what about--"

He doesn't get to finish, because that's when Louis decides to sink down on his cock. Everything he was meant to say flies away, his brain blanking out.

He moans as Louis bottoms out. He's hyperaware of where he and Louis are joined, where the hem of Harry's yellow button down is brushing the bottom part of his stomach. He opens his eyes.

Louis' looking at him, an eyebrow quirked. His fringe is matted onto his forehead with sweat, and the yellow shirt has slipped completely from his shoulder. The front part of it is wet, stained with what is most probably Louis' come, and Harry can see that his pretty, perfect cock is stirring again, peeking out from between the buttons of the shirt despite having come a few minutes ago. He looks debauched and happy. He's still the prettiest boy Harry's ever seen.

"Look," Louis says happily, as he wiggles on Harry's cock, making Harry moan and throw his head back. "I'm sat on my throne. I'm King Louis."

Harry snorts, despite himself. "That was horrible."

"Your jokes are worse," Louis shoots back.

"My jokes are funny," Harry says. "I'm pretty funny." He makes grabby hands at Louis. "Because I'm funny, you should come kiss me."

Louis rolls his eyes. "No," but he leans forward and presses his lips to Harry's anyway. He wastes no time licking into Harry's mouth, and Harry hums happily as Louis teases his tongue with his own.

Louis pulls away after a few minutes, and Harry whines.

"Shh, shh, shh," Louis says, ducking down to take a nipple into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it, biting at the nub, before sucking a bruise right beside it. Harry has to close his eyes and count to ten to stop him from already shooting off.

"Hmm," Louis says as he pulls away, examining his work. Harry's nipple is probably bruised now. "We should name them." He presses a kiss to the nub of Harry's left nipple. "This is Lou." He presses a kiss to Harry's right nipple, before latching on to it, sucking.  "This one's Ee. Lou and Ee."

He's naming Harry's nipples. He's insane.

Louis bounces once on Harry's cock, making Harry gasp. "I should name this one too, shouldn't I. Or how about we just put a sign that says 'Property of Louis Tomlinson'?"

He bounces again, and again, and Harry's going to die. He can feel it. Louis' going to tease him and Harry's going to die hard. And that's the worst thing that could ever happen.

"Louis," he says in between clenched teeth. He grips Louis' waist, hard enough to bruise. "Are you going to get on with it?"

"You are such a fucking diva, I swear," Louis snipes at him, but then he's gripping onto Harry's shoulders, planting his feet beside Harry's waist, and beginning to fuck himself on Harry's cock.

Louis is so hot and so tight, despite Harry stretching him out with three fingers earlier, and Harry can't think, can only feel the way he and Louis are joined together, can only focus on Louis' heat, and Louis' skin, and Louis in that shirt, and _Louis Louis Louis_.

Fuck, Louis is the best boy. The best, best boy.

Harry's hands move from Louis' waist to his arse, and he pulls Louis forward, almost causing him to fall onto Harry.

"You fucker," Louis hisses, as he rights himself, his hands gripping on Harry's shoulders again. He opens his mouth to continue speaking, but Harry chooses that moment to thrust up slightly, punching out a gasp and a whimper from Louis.

"Harry," he says breathlessly, his eyes bright, and Harry can't help it, he pulls him down and kisses him.

"Lou," he moans, when they break off, Louis hips moving in figure eights as he peppers kisses and sucks bruises down Harry's jaw and neck. "Lou, I'm so close."

"Shh," Louis whispers into Harry's neck, as he works on forming a particularly huge bruise on the junction between Harry's neck and shoulder. Harry briefly wonders if he'll be able to cover that for tomorrow's show. "I've got you, love."

Louis pushes himself up again, his strong, muscular thighs working until Harry's dick is almost completely out of him, before dropping down. He does it again and again, rides Harry's cock like a champion, and _fuck_.

There's sweat dripping down Harry's neck, and it takes him a moment to realize that he's moaning, low and desperate, every time Louis drops down.

Louis doesn't look much better either. He's fully hard again, his cock poking through the holes in between the buttons of the yellow shirt, and it's bobbing up and down, following the movement. He's got his head thrown back, his collarbones jutting out, and if he died like this, at least he'd be able to say that he's seen an angel.

Harry's not going to last any longer.

One of Harry's hands move to circle around Louis' cock. "Lou," he asks breathlessly, as Louis pushes himself up. "Baby, are you going to come again?"

"Yes," Louis hisses, "God, Harry, yes."

He drops himself down Harry's cock and Harry thrusts up, eliciting a long, drawn out moan from the both of them. Harry grips Louis' hips tightly and starts fucking into him as Louis stays impaled on Harry's cock.

Harry removes one of his hands from Louis' waist and grabs at Louis' hand, trying to intertwine their fingers together. He uses that to pull Louis down and kiss him, moaning and licking into the kiss, as he thrusts up and Louis rolls his hips.

Their orgasm hits them almost in sync, with Louis gasping and spilling on to the yellow shirt before collapsing on Harry's chest, while Harry spills into Louis', his body arching into Louis like a taut bow string.

It takes a moment for them to come back to their senses.

"There," Louis slurs, lifting himself up, hissing as Harry's limp dick pulls out of him. "I've paid my dues."

"Mmm, baby," Harry says. "Thank you." He pauses. "Maybe we should take a shower."

"No," Louis answers petulantly. He curls up beside Harry, shirt and all. "Don't wanna move."

"At least let's get you out of this," Harry pulls at the come-stained shirt.  Louis makes a face. "It's disgusting."

Louis suddenly perks up. "Oh, hey, it's ruined! We ruined the ugly ass yellow shirt!"

Harry rolls his eyes. "It's not ugly," he defends, as Louis sits up and struggles to pull the shirt away from his body. "It's quirky."

"Well, _now_ it's ugly," Louis yawns, using the shirt to wipe at his arse. "And lube-y. And crummy. And you can never wear it again."

"I'll find more shirts just like it," Harry challenges. "Ugly, yellow shirts."

There's a pause.

"If I kept ruining your ugly shirts by coming on them," Louis starts, "would that stop you from actually buying the ugly shirts?"

"I'll probably go out and find more," Harry admits. "But that was some great sex, isn't it? Proof that great fashion choices can lead to great sex."

Louis blinks at him. "You are so fucking weird."

"Again, you've been fucking my weird since two thousand ten." Harry replies happily. "Come here, give me a kiss."

"No," Louis pouts, but curls up against Harry's chest anyway. He leans forward and purses his lips, and Harry captures it, licking into Louis' mouth, revelling at how familiar Louis tastes.

"Let's go to bed," Harry says, when Louis breaks off the kiss to yawn. Louis doesn't answer, just snuffles and snuggles closer into Harry. Harry presses a kiss into his hair. "Love you, boo."

"Love you, Haz," Louis mumbles into his chest. "You're gonna have to touch Liam's dirty underwear."

"Maybe I can still teach you," Harry says, thoughtfully. "We can make laundry erotic, after all."

Louis snorts. "Not a chance in hell."

He'll come around. Harry's sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> do you realize that every time Harry wears a wild shirt i can write something in this verse because i do
> 
> if you liked it, you can reblog it [here](http://paynner.tumblr.com/post/129498534265/britishhusbands-that-ugly-ass-yellow-shirt-7k)!  
> come say hi on [ tumblr! ](http://missandrogyny.tumblr.com)


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